The Day After: Mendoza's Story
by CinderGirl2012
Summary: Diego's life has been saved to ride again as Zorro and the evil Emisario Resondo is dead but can everything really go back to normal? A story that follows the last episode of the "New World" Zorro.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All the characters in this chapter belong to the copyright holders at Zorro Productions. I don't make any profit from writing this story other than the personal enjoyment of putting my words on paper, and I paid my dues to the copyright holders for the pleasure of watching the newly-released DVD.

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><p>"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." The opening words of confession floated across the wooden lattice that separated the padre from the penitent. He recognized the familiar voice and waited expectantly to hear what sins had brought Mendoza to the confessional.<p>

"Father, my heart is filled with hatred. I know I must forgive but I can't. I just can't. He left me behind to be tortured and killed, he ran off to save his own skin." Was there a quiver in Mendoza's voice as he spoke? The padre couldn't tell but this was not Mendoza's usual confession. "What happened my son? Tell me what has troubled you so," he responded.

Mendoza's thoughts went back to that day in the plaza. The Emisario passing judgment on them. There was no hope. It seemed he would see both Mendoza and the alcalde dead by this time tomorrow. They had each been left to spend their final hours as they wished but with no hope of reprieve or escape. The Emisario had made it clear that as bad as it would be to die, he would make it horribly worse for the one who remained if either tried to escape. He set them "free" counting on their loyalty to each other to keep them from trying to make a run for it. When Mendoza saw the alcalde coming back into town with the soldiers and Resondo's dead body, something broke in him. He couldn't get over the sudden realization that the alcalde really had betrayed him.

"All he cared about was himself. A soldier is used to taking orders, even to risking his life to carry out a mission but this is different. He left me behind to save his own skin, knowing what the Emisario would do to me when he returned. When I hear his voice, I hate him. He cheated me twice and I forgave him. But this I cannot forgive. I cannot forget. I hate him." The last words were bitter. Mendoza felt the spaces in the wood beneath him that were worn down from many knees. His faith had always brought him through in the past. He had turned to it again when he felt overwhelmed by the violence and depth of these new feelings.

"My son," responded the padre, "there are many things in this world that are evil but we must never lose sight of God in the midst of them. There are worse things than physical death. It is a more terrible thing to die spiritually through hatred and bitterness than to be run through with a sword or hung by a noose. And our Savior warned us that unforgiveness brings torment to the heart that harbors it. You did well to come today."

Mendoza raised his eyes to the lattice through which the voice of the padre came. A little bit of light came through as well and he could just make out the silhouette of the padre's head. He waited for the padre to continue. Could there be an answer, some words that would undo the damage to his heart?

"My son, the Holy Word tells us of Joseph, a young man who was betrayed by his own brothers. They sold him to be a slave to strangers. He was torn away from his family and his home. Was this not a betrayal?"

"Si" replied Mendoza.

"And then, after he had served his master faithfully for years and had risen to a position of respect, he was falsely accused of the very crime that he had refused to commit. But no one would listen to him, no one would believe him. He was thrown into prison. Was this not a betrayal?"

As the padre paused, Mendoza again answered, "Si."

"Then, in prison," the padre continued, "the young man was again faithful. He served the other prisoners according to his orders. One day, he had a chance to help a prisoner who was going to be released. He begged the man to remember him and to help him get a new hearing after he was set free. But the man forgot him and two years went by. Do you think Joseph would understand what you have gone through?"

Mendoza had been listening to the story and had to stop and think for a moment. Yes, the young man must have had thoughts of bitterness, too. Did he hate his brothers? Mendoza thought of how he had never known his own family. Did he have brothers and sisters? Growing up as an orphan, he had reached out to the army to be a family to him. Perhaps some of the pain came from the fact that he had believed that if he had served faithfully enough, the alcalde could be like a father to him. He expected a father to give orders and be hard to please. But he had believed that with time, especially with this new alcalde, he had hoped that his faithfulness and loyalty would be noticed and rewarded with, if not affection, at least with a respect, a camaraderie, that would have been deeper, more meaningful, than that of superior officer and soldier. For a moment, he had even thought it had happened. He remembered De Soto's arm around his shoulders as he talked of the house he would build for Mendoza with the lottery money he had won. It had seemed for a moment that he had found respect for his dreams, encouragement to be all he could be. Also when he had tried out for a promotion. At the memory of this, Mendoza unconsciously clenched his fists. Both times the alcalde had betrayed him. De Soto had used inferior materials and cheated him out of his money as his architect, and then he tricked him into losing the promotion. Suddenly, Mendoza realized that the padre was still waiting for his answer.

"Yes, he would understand." The words were short and clipped as the bitter memories washed over him and tightened around his heart.

"Then let his words comfort you now in this time of distress. Let them hold out a light to show you the way to healing. That prison was not the end for the young man. Soon thereafter, he rose to a position of greatness and was a blessing to many people. When he met his brothers again, he was able to say to them, "When you sold me into slavery, you meant it for evil, but God used it for good." He could forgive them because he saw that God's goodness was greater than their evil. The alcalde betrayed you, but your life is not over. Although he was wrong to betray you, yet God used it to save the lives of Don Alejandro and Don Diego. Can you look at that greater good and find it in your heart to forgive the injustice that was done to you?"

Mendoza thought of the de la Vegas. They had always been kind to him and treated him with respect. He tried to imagine what would have happened if the alcalde had stayed in town. Don Alejandro and Don Diego would both be dead. He and the alcalde would be dead as well. Mendoza let out a sigh. "Si" he said. "I will forgive him."

As Mendoza exited the church, the afternoon sunlight warmed his face and cheered his heart. It was good to be alive, he thought. In the end, he was alive, the de la Vegas were alive, everything was back as it had been. He would focus on that and forget the past. He walked over to the tavern. Perhaps Victoria had made a fresh batch of enchiladas. There was nothing like a good meal to make one appreciate being alive!

A number of soldiers from the detachment that had accompanied the Emisario were milling about the plaza. Their orders had placed them under his complete command but now with his death, they were unsure of their relationship with the local authorities. As Mendoza entered the tavern, he saw the alcalde motioning to gather together the soldiers. A flicker of worry crossed Mendoza's mind. Was the alcalde planning some new betrayal? No, he could not allow himself to think such thoughts. He crossed through the doors and entered the tavern.

Meanwhile, the alcalde had led the soldiers into his office. As they stood in rank before him, he spread out across his desk a parchment adorned with an official seal at the bottom. "As you can see," he stated firmly "I received my commission and this post directly from the king. Therefore, I am your new commanding officer until you receive orders to the contrary. You will live in the barracks and go out on patrols according to my orders. Are there any questions?"

The soldiers looked at one another, finally ending with all gazing at Emilio Sanchez. A life-long soldier, he was the most senior among them and the unofficial spokesperson when they needed one. "No sir. Do you have any orders, sir?"

"Yes," replied the alcalde. "I have seen that your training and weapons are more modern than those of my lancers. This may be just what is required to finally catch that renegade bandit, Zorro. The alcalde moved over to a map on the wall and began to point at different sections. "You will start your patrols tomorrow in groups of three..."

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><p>Author's Note: It's taken me months to work up the courage to actually put a story down in writing and post it for others to read. This is my very first attempt so I'm really looking forward to getting feedback and reading your reviews. Thanks in advance!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you to mjesd2, CrazyJan57, ABlape, and katie1999 for your kind reviews-you really made my day! Hope you enjoy this next chapter and the ones to come.

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><p>When Mendoza returned to the barracks, he discovered that his room had been requisitioned to provide space for a group of the soldiers. His belongings had been tossed on a cot moved into the main room of the garrison, alongside the other lancers. That evening, over dinner, there was an uneasy tension between the new soldiers and the lancers.<p>

"Why do we need them here?" muttered Pedro. "Aren't we good enough?"

There was a low murmuring among the lancers. Mendoza let it go on for a few moments, then stood up. "That's enough. These men are only staying until they receive new orders, then they will leave. Don't start trouble and there won't be any." After looking at a couple of the men sternly, Mendoza sat down. The new soldiers, too, murmured among themselves. Then one of them nudged Sanchez. Sanchez rose to his feet and picked up his cup. He walked over to Mendoza and looked for a place to sit. The lancers were seated fairly close together and seeing the new man looking for a seat, they nudged even closer and looked up as if to challenge him to do anything about it.

Sanchez stood silently for a moment, then spoke calmly. "Sergeant Mendoza, would you step outside with me for a moment? I need to talk to you about the arrangements in your room." Mendoza rose from his seat and followed the Imperial soldier out into the garrison courtyard. Once outside, Sanchez began, "You are the leader of these men?"

"Si," replied Mendoza. I am the highest ranked among the lancers and have served the longest at this post."

"Your men do not appreciate having us here." It was a statement and yet a question. "But unfortunately, we will have to get along for some time it seems. I would like us to come to an understanding so that there is no trouble." Sanchez looked at Mendoza, waiting to see his response. He hoped he could trust this man.

"For some time? I do not understand. I thought that it would just be a matter of a few days or weeks until a courier could come from Mexico City with new orders."

"It seems that your alcalde has plans for our group. He has ordered us to stay to help him catch some renegade called Zorro. He has authority over us as the most senior representative of the king in the area and it is not clear how long he will want us to stay. We are, of course, awaiting orders, but I get the impression that we will not receive them until this alcalde wants them to arrive."

With Sanchez's words, a jumble of emotions began to swirl around in Mendoza's mind. He wasn't sure what Sanchez was looking for from him. How was he expected to react to this news? So the move from his room was not just for convenience to get the soldiers out of Victoria's tavern: it was a demotion of sorts—not official, he was still a sergeant, but just as hurtful. He remembered the parting words of the padre after confession, the touch of warmth from the sun as he had exited the church. It seemed flat now and his heart grew cold inside.

"Well," he finally answered, "you may be right. We will have to wait and see what the alcalde has planned for us. Con permiso." Mendoza turned to leave but Sanchez put out a hand to stop him. "We don't want any trouble." Mendoza looked up at the night sky. "You won't have any…. from me," he said. "And I'll do what I can with the men." Without looking back, Mendoza went back inside. The men looked at him questioningly but Mendoza had nothing to say. He kept to himself the rest of the evening except to scold when anyone started talking against the other soldiers. After checking on the two lancers posting guard, he took his place on the cot amongst the others.

In a short while, their breathing became regular and a few started snoring. But Mendoza could not sleep. Why had the alcalde chosen to involve these soldiers in going after Zorro? He knew that his men had never been able to capture the outlaw. After a while, they had stopped really trying, especially after he had saved their lives after a cave-in. But these new soldiers had no such loyalty. They didn't know the many good things that Zorro had done, like capturing bandits and preventing the alcalde from hanging innocent people. But they did have newer weapons. He had seen how much more effective these rifles were than the older muskets that were standard issue at the cuartel. Was that why the alcalde was getting them involved? Mendoza sighed and lay back down to sleep. He didn't like this new development but wasn't sure what could be done about it. Maybe he would talk to Sanchez in the morning and try to explain why he and his men shouldn't get involved in this fight. What was he thinking? A soldier didn't think about his orders. A soldier obeyed. There was nothing to explain. Nothing to do. Mendoza fell asleep.

He dreamed. He had gone to visit his house and the doorknob had come off in his hand. Then the doors had given way at the slightest touch. He remembered coming to with the house on fire all around him, the pain of his head, the acrid smoke filling his lungs. Then the sudden lift, being carried out of his house and laid on the cool ground outside. He crossed himself and looked up into the eyes of the man who had saved him—Zorro. Suddenly, the crack of multiple rifles went off and Zorro fell. He felt the wet stickiness of blood and heard his own voice cry out: "Nooooooooooooo!" He woke up, bolt upright and bathed in sweat. A man next to him looked up at him, then rolled over. A grunt and a snore, then the room was quiet again.

Tomorrow morning the patrols would start with the new men, the new weapons. But perhaps tonight, he could find Zorro himself. Mendoza arose and grabbed his jacket and boots. Walking quietly to the door, he waited till he was outside to put them on. Then he went out to the stables and unhitched his horse. He passed the guard without incident and went out into the night. He hated the night. It had always seemed filled with unseen dangers. Night was the time of ghosts and phantoms. But now the night would be his friend for it would lead him to Zorro.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: And another episode right away just to thank my reviewers. Let me know what you think and yes, there's much more to come.

Usual disclaimer applies.

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><p>Mendoza arrived back in town as the dawn was just breaking over the far hills. It had been a fruitless search. Although there had been a three-quarters moon, there had been no tracks to follow and wandering aimlessly up and down the countryside had not led him to cross paths with the elusive man in black. Mendoza got off his horse, weary from the saddle and tired from lack of sleep.<p>

"And just what do you think you were doing out all night?" The cold tone of the alcalde greeted Mendoza as he reached the cuartel gates.

"I was looking for bandits," replied Mendoza. It was not exactly a lie. Zorro was considered a bandit and would have been hanged as one if he had ever been caught.

The alcalde snorted his disdain. "That's a laugh! You couldn't catch a bandit if you stumbled over him in his sleep. Put your horse away and join the men in the cuartel. I have an announcement to make."

"Si, alcalde." Mendoza saluted and led the horse off.

The alcalde stood staring after him for a moment. It was a small thing, probably insignificant. But Mendoza had not called him "mi alcalde," like he usually did, only "alcalde." Still, he had obeyed. De Soto shrugged and returned to his office.

The meeting went smoothly despite some initial grumbling by the lancers when they found out that the new soldiers would be staying longer than they had expected. The alcalde was making the Imperial soldiers responsible for going out on patrol while the lancers would remain within the city, working to enlarge and refurbish the garrison.

Back in their quarters, Pedro broke the ice, "Well, at least we won't be the ones being shot at!"

"Si," replied Jose, "no more saddle sores!"

"Enjoy it while you can" teased Mendoza, but inside he was troubled. Would these new soldiers find Zorro, and if they did, would they be able to capture him, perhaps even kill him? And what could he do about it?

In the tavern, business had picked up since the soldiers had left. Now, a week later, the room was almost full at lunchtime. Two old caballeros were playing chess in a corner, there was a business deal going on at another table over lunch, some lancers were joking around a heaping platter of enchiladas and the bar was full with people in town for market day. Again the door swung open, and Don Diego walked in.

"Is there room for one more?" he asked Victoria with a smile. "It seems that you are quite busy today."

"Si, I am grateful that the alcalde found other quarters for the Imperial soldiers once Emisario Resondo was gone." As she spoke the words, she suddenly realized that she had made a mistake. A shadow passed across Diego's face and she quickly added, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"That's all right, Victoria. He was my brother and yet he would have killed both me and my father. It still makes no sense to us. But we cannot dwell on the past and what was lost. There is the present to enjoy and the future to plan." As he spoke, Diego looked straight at Victoria and a light came into his eyes. For but a second she met his gaze, then looked down and blushed slightly.

"There is always room for you, Don Diego. Here, I will set a place. What would you like?" As she spoke, she quickly gathered up some dirty dishes and made room for him to sit.

"Whatever you have prepared as the meal of the day," he replied. "On such a busy day, I don't want to burden you further." Victoria nodded her appreciation and walked toward the kitchen. Diego scanned the room to see the other guests. He gave a slight wave to greet the caballeros in the corner. Friends of his father, they were daily fixtures at the tavern. From time to time, they would tell him stories of what life was like during the first years of the colony or give him advice on how to be a good caballero. He was somewhat surprised at the large number of lancers in the tavern. Normally, some of them would have been out on patrol or collecting taxes at the market. But then, now that he thought of it, it had been Imperial soldiers instead that he had met on the road and seen in the marketplace.

Victoria came back bearing a plate of food just as Mendoza walked in. "Sergeant Mendoza, won't you join me for lunch?" Diego called out. Mendoza hesitated, looking toward the lancers at the far table, then sighed and approached the table.

"Thank you, Don Diego, that is very kind of you, but I have already eaten at the cuartel..."

Diego probed, "Then won't you have a glass a juice and sit for a moment? Surely there is no pressing business to be done."

Mendoza sighed again and yielded. "That is certainly true, Don Diego. With the new soldiers here, there is very little for us lancers to do."

"I had thought that the Imperial soldiers would leave after the funeral. Surely there is nothing more for them to do here." Diego had not been in town since the funeral, between tending his wounded arm and attending to the paperwork for Felipe's adoption, so he had not realized until now that the soldiers had stayed on.

"Yes, that is what we had thought too. But the alcalde had other ideas."

Victoria passed by and handed him a glass of juice. "When the alcalde gets ideas, I get worried!" she joked, then moved on to other customers.

Mendoza took a sip of the juice. "Aah, this is good. At least that is one advantage in staying in town, there is more time to enjoy Victoria's cooking!" Mendoza watched Victoria as she went from table to table, then looked back at Diego. "The alcalde is using them on patrol instead of the lancers, hoping that they will be able to catch Zorro, where we have failed." Mendoza stared into his glass of juice for a moment, then continued. "And with their new rifles, they may succeed. The alcalde considers us incompetent but he's wrong…" At that moment, a loud voice could be heard echoing across the plaza. "Mendoza!"

"There he goes again. It's Mendoza this and Mendoza that. Sometimes I wonder why I stay in the army at all" Mendoza blurted out bitterly. With a slight bow and the customary "Con permiso, Don Diego," Mendoza rose from the table and left the tavern.

Diego ate slowly and thoughtfully. It was just as well that with his arm healing, he had not gone out lately as Zorro. He realized all too well the danger of the new soldiers and their rifles—one had shot him while he had been fighting with Resondo on the roof. It could easily have killed him. He had always been able to count on the fact that muskets were inaccurate and short-range weapons. In addition, the lancers could only shoot one bullet at a time, so if he could get them to fire while he was still out of range, he would be safe until they had time to reload. Now he was up against a different enemy that would call for different tactics. So caught up was he in considering Mendoza's news and deciding how to respond to this new danger that he hadn't even noticed Mendoza's unusual outburst.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you to my reviewers for the continued encouragement. It means so much! Keep sending it, please.

For those of you who can't wait for the swashbuckling action, or romance, bear with me just a little longer... they're coming.

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><p>The reports came in slowly at first. A farmer complained that the Imperial soldiers had demanded a chicken as payment to pass through on the road to town. A couple said that the soldiers had overturned their cart and gone through the belongings, saying they were looking for contraband. When they went to clean up the mess, they found that their dishes were broken. After a while, everyone seemed to know someone that had lost something to the soldiers on patrol.<p>

Pedro was muttering to his companion over lunch. "It's not right, I say. My cousin was minding his own business, plowing the field. The soldiers came up and demanded 10 pesos or they would take his donkey. What could he do? You can't plow without a donkey. But 10 pesos, that is a lot of money for us peones. It's just not right. The alcalde sends them out on patrol to catch bandits and they are the bandits! The day I find out who was responsible….." Pedro stopped as he realized that Mendoza was listening. He waited to see Mendoza's reaction. Mendoza looked at Pedro for a minute, then rose and left the room. He went out to the plaza and looked around. He could see Sanchez at the gate, sending off one of the patrols. He crossed over to join him.

"Sanchez, I have been getting reports that some of your men are demanding money and goods from the local people. You are in charge of these soldiers, you must get to the bottom of this and discipline the men responsible."

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Mendoza, but I take my orders from the alcalde. If you have a problem with them, you must take it up with him."

"I know you take your orders from the alcalde, but what does that have to do with it? Your orders are to go on patrol, not extort money from the people. "

"Sergeant, I don't have time to discuss this with you. Take it up with the alcalde." Sanchez turned away and began to call together a group of men for the next patrol.

Mendoza was stunned. "No," he said. "For this, you will make time. We will go together to the alcalde." The sergeant grabbed Sanchez by the arm and led him toward the alcalde's office. The men of the patrol began to follow, until waved off by a gesture of Sanchez. "Esta bien"-"It's all right," he said.

Mendoza knocked on the door of De Soto's office. He heard the alcalde grunt his permission to enter and brought Sanchez in with him. De Soto looked at Mendoza, then at Sanchez. "What is the problem?" he barked.

Mendoza licked his lips nervously, then began. "Alcalde, people are reporting that the Imperial soldiers are demanding bribes and threatening people while out on patrol." The alcalde stared at him, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. Mendoza hesitated, looked at Sanchez, who was waiting silently with a blank expression on his face, then back at De Soto. "Alcalde. These men are strangers here, they do not have relatives among the people, but they will obey you." Mendoza stopped and waited for De Soto's reply. His silence confused Mendoza. Had he not heard? Had he not understood? He wanted to shout, "Alcalde, find out who has done this and punish them! Make them stop!" Instead, faced with the alcalde's continued silence, he only said, "I thought you would want to know."

The alcalde looked at Mendoza with a mixture of anger and suppressed laughter. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to the increasingly nervous sergeant, he replied, "Your report is duly noted. I will look into this."

Looking back down at his papers, he waved his hand toward the door. "You are dismissed, Mendoza. Sanchez, you will remain. I have matters to discuss with you." Relieved, Mendoza saluted smartly, then turned and exited. De Soto waited until the door was closed, then motioned for Sanchez to come closer.

In a low but clear voice, De Soto spoke. "I am glad to see that your activities have been noticed. But they are still too small in scale. We must raise the stakes to flush out this bandit. Tell your men to increase their activities, to take larger amounts. That will get the Fox's attention! Then when Zorro comes out to interfere, we can spring our trap and eliminate him once and for all."

"It is making a lot of bad feeling in the town toward my men, alcalde. I see the looks of hatred when they pass through the market and there is a lot of muttering among the lancers. There could be trouble," warned Sanchez.

De Soto rose from his desk and circled it to be next to Sanchez. He put one arm over Sanchez's shoulders and with the other hand pointed at a painting on the wall. "Do you know who that is, Sanchez?" he asked.

"No, alcalde."

"That is a great man, Sanchez. His name was Machiavelli and he taught me everything I know about how to govern. He said, 'It is much more secure to be feared than to be loved.' I have no interest in being loved by these people, I have no respect for them. But I will be feared. And you will find that there is safety in being feared. Make yourself feared and there will be no trouble."

Sanchez looked at De Soto in silence. He had heard that kind of talk before. Emisario Resondo had believed much the same thing—and it led him only to an early and inglorious death. He wondered if he was destined to always serve ruthless, power-hungry men. But that was an empty question. He was here now and under this man. Until new orders came through, he had to please him, come what might. The interview over, Sanchez saluted and left the room.

Diego was in his armchair, looking over the score from Rossini's latest opera. It wasn't likely that he would hear it produced any time soon—the colony was too remote to imagine that a whole opera company would come from Spain in the near future—but several of the melodies would be pretty to play on the piano. He heard the door slam only seconds before an excited Felipe burst into the room. He gestured quickly but Diego could make it out without much difficulty.

"Soldiers. The Imperial soldiers. They stopped you on the way home from your run to town. They demanded money. They made you get out of the wagon and searched it. They threatened you. They took… no, they destroyed the papers and books I had sent you to get." Felipe finished and waited. "I'm sorry," he signed. "I wanted to fight but there were several of them and I had no weapon."

"No," Diego said, "I wouldn't want you to risk your life over a few books. Not even those ones." Books were rare and expensive, a precious possession for those who were able to get them out here in the colony. But Felipe's life was even more precious. A book could be replaced; a life, never. He saw Felipe's finger slash a "Z" in the air and his hands make the sign for question.

"Yes, perhaps it is time that Zorro investigated these soldiers. They are becoming a real terror to the community. My arm has healed from that gunshot wound and it is about time I got back to work. But I must be wise as my namesake or I may just end up shot again. We'll wait until this evening to act. Meanwhile, I'll see what information I can gather as a newspaperman! Come, let's go to the pueblo."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: A short chapter, but I should have 6 up within the hour. And please, keep your reviews coming! I love hearing from you and knowing your thoughts about what's going on.

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><p>Diego and Felipe headed to the stable. As they rode to town, Diego gave his instructions to Felipe. "Each of us must gather as much information as we can so that Zorro knows what he is up against. I will talk to different people, saying that I am gathering news for an article in the Guardian. See if you can overhear any of the conversations of the soldiers. For all their faults, this kind of thing never happened with the lancers. I'm wondering what is behind this behavior."<p>

At the gates of the city, they separated. In the tavern, Diego interviewed a number of people that had been victims of the soldiers' bullying. It seemed that it had been getting worse with time. First farmers, and now even caballeros, were being victimized. It seemed that a group of soldiers would stop someone and while one was demanding money, the others stood back with guns ready, even when the person was unarmed and doing nothing to resist them. As he finished the last interview, the alcalde walked up behind him. Before Diego realized what had happened, the alcalde had reached around and grabbed the notebook out of his hand, tearing off the top pages and stuffing them into his pocket. As Diego rose up from his seat to protest, De Soto put one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other on Diego's shoulder, pushing him back down toward his chair.

With an obvious threat in his voice, De Soto growled out, "Writing an article against the soldiers of the king? I wouldn't do that if I were you. It might be misinterpreted as stirring up rebellion. Treason and sedition are hanging matters you know." He stared down at Diego, waiting for him to acknowledge his command.

The alcalde was not disappointed. Diego yielded without a fight. "By no means, alcalde. Treason is the furthest thing from my mind. I was merely collecting the news. I thought you, of all people, would want to know if someone under your command was breaking the law."

"If such a thing were the case, I would not need a newspaper to tell me," De Soto huffed. "In any case, it is not for you to question the actions of men that are under my command."

"Oh, then am I to understand that they are acting under your command, alcalde?" Diego asked with an innocent expression.

"Of course, they are under my command, didn't I just say so?" De Soto found that he was almost shouting. Suddenly the realization of what he had just admitted hit him like a shot in the head. His mouth snapped closed. He stared at Diego, who was still smiling angelically, then turned on his heels and strode out the door.

Diego waited a few minutes for the silence around him to give way to a low buzz of conversation. Victoria came over to him. "Are you going to allow him to get away with that? For weeks now people have been putting up with the bullying of these soldiers and he just comes in and demands that you keep silent about it! Aren't you going to do something?"

Diego looked up at her. "Victoria, there is really very little that I or the Guardian can do. You heard the alcalde. There is nothing to be gained by my being hung for sedition."

Victoria looked at Diego in exasperation. "No, of course not… but you give up so easily! Really, I don't know why I even try with you."

She turned and moved towards a group of customers that were sitting down at another table. Diego watched her go. How easy it would be to blurt out the truth rather than endure her scorn. He so longed for her to respect him as she did Zorro. But the cost was too high—it would end his ability to fight for the very things she wanted him to act on. He picked up his notebook, bid goodbye to the others at his table, and left to find Felipe.

They were just about to leave when a sudden commotion at the gate caused them to take a step back. A group of peones came running through the gate crying out for Mendoza. At the sound of his name, Mendoza got up from his chair on the steps of the alcalde's office and went out to meet them. "What is this all about?" he asked. "Domingo, Jose, Luis, what are doing in town in the middle of the day? Why aren't you at home working?"

The words tumbled out, each man adding his complaint. "Los soldados—the soldiers—they are cutting down all of our crops. They told us if we tried to interfere, they would shoot us. They must be crazy. We have done nothing. We cannot survive without our crops. How will we feed our families? How will we pay our taxes? Mendoza, you are a soldier, do something!"

Mendoza knew these men. They were good, loyal citizens. They had always paid their taxes on time, never caused any trouble. What was going on with these soldiers? The alcalde had said he was looking into it but nothing had changed. In fact, things seemed to have gotten worse after that meeting. He felt his chest tighten as the farmers continued to plead with him to act. In a moment, he found he had made a decision. Looking back toward the cuartel, he called out, "Jimenez! Gomez! Rodriguez! Bring some horses and guns!" As the men came out to him, he gave them his order: "It's time to put a stop to this. Let's go!"

Felipe turned to Diego and signed, "What is Mendoza doing?" Diego turned to him and said, "I think he is about to become a hero. But perhaps he could use a little help." Diego only winked when Felipe surreptitiously traced a "Z" in the air. They understood each other. Quickly, they mounted up and returned to the hacienda for today, Zorro would ride.

They did not see the alcalde explode out of the office behind them. "What has gotten into that fool, Mendoza? He's going to ruin everything!" Within minutes, another group of lancers, led this time by the alcalde, were racing down the road.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Here is the next chapter, as promised. The chapter after that, which I'll probably have up on Sunday, will conclude this arc, but the story will go on ...

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><p>When Zorro scouted out the scene from behind a nearby hill, he could see that the situation was serious. Mendoza and the lancers were in a face-off with the Imperial soldiers and swords were already drawn. Zorro realized that he was still too far for his whip to be effective and he would be seen and shot at long before he could get within a useful distance. He was prepared for this, however, having brought a few time-delay bombs with him from his laboratory. By creating a diversion, he could approach the Imperial soldiers from behind while their attention was drawn elsewhere.<p>

Zorro was reaching into his saddlebag for one of the bombs when De Soto drew up with his group of lancers. At the sight of the alcalde, Mendoza felt encouraged. Leaving the soldiers and lancers, he approached De Soto. "Alcalde, we found these men in the very act of destroying the farm. They are the ones who have been causing trouble in the pueblo."

"Mendoza," the alcalde growled, "You are a fool! And now, you are under arrest for disobeying my orders."

"But alcalde," Mendoza found himself almost wimpering. "These men….."

"These men are under my orders and you are under arrest. Corporal, lead Sergeant Mendoza back to the cuartel and lock him up where he won't cause any more trouble. The rest of you lancers, get back to town where you belong. This doesn't concern you." The corporal tied Mendoza's hands and helped him mount. Together with the other lancers, they rode back to town. De Soto watched them go, then turned to the Imperial soldiers. "Any sign of Zorro yet?"

"No, alcalde," was the reply.

"What does it take to draw out that fox? Well, keep at it. He's bound to hear about these attacks and react at some point. He always does. Continue on, men!" De Soto turned his horse and he, too, rode back to town.

"So," Zorro thought to himself," it is all a trap to catch a fox. But he who sets a trap must be careful not to fall into it himself!"

Back at the cave, Diego thought out loud to Felipe. "It appears that all these activities by the soldiers are part of a plot to draw Zorro out into the open where their more advanced weapons can be used against him."

Felipe made the sign for the sergeant. "Mendoza? Oh, he tried to help but only got himself jailed for it. He did a brave thing but I'm afraid he's going to be made to suffer for it."

Felipe signed "Now, what?" but the expression on his face alone was enough to guess his meaning.

"I'm not sure, Felipe. What really surprises me, though, is why the soldiers are still here weeks after the Emisario was killed. With all the unrest going on around Mexico City these days with the rebels, I would have thought that the administration would have called them back long before now. Unless…"

Felipe drew a question mark in the air.

"Unless they have been recalled and the alcalde hid the new orders," replied Diego. "I will need to look into that possibility. First, though, let us go comfort the good sergeant."

But Diego was not given a chance. When De Soto found him speaking to the guard to be allowed to visit Mendoza, he immediately intervened and forbade any contact between Mendoza and anyone outside the military. "I will not have you interfering with my military discipline, de la Vega!" he scolded. "And I have already warned you about writing seditious articles. Now get out of here!"

At nightfall, a black shadow crept into the sleepy pueblo. Zorro had delayed action long enough—it was time now to act and to put an end to this senseless violence against the people. Silently and gracefully, he climbed the side of an adobe building and swung himself onto the roof. The plaza was deserted. Carefully, he walked along until he reached the place above the alcalde's office where he knew the tiles were loose. He then took a mirror out of his shirt and angled it to catch a beam of moonlight and reflect it over the gate into the darkness beyond.

Felipe was waiting. He lifted a figure of Zorro to the back of a horse that was tethered loosely to a stake. After tying the mannequin's feet into the straps, he rubbed the horse's neck to soothe it. Then, he advanced a short distance and bent down. Four times he advanced and bent down, each time putting a match to a long string. Finished, Felipe quickly swung up into the saddle of his pinto and galloped off into the night. For several minutes all remained quiet and calm.

Then, suddenly, there was an explosion and a frightened neigh. The horse sped off down the road as more explosions sounded. Shouts and cries from the cuartel added to the confusion as the men mobilized to chase Zorro. The alcalde burst through the door of his office. "Finally, there he is! My horse! Quickly men, after him!" A soldier brought the alcalde his horse and, moments later, de Soto was leading a large group of lancers through the gates of the pueblo.

Zorro waited until the soldiers had disappeared into the night and even their sounds were fading away in the distance before quickly removing the tiles and lowering himself into the alcalde's office. A single lamp burned in one corner, casting large shadows across the room. Zorro opened the drawers of the desk, looking for… well, he would know it when he saw it. Seeing nothing of significance, he went over to the safe and picked the lock, but found only money inside. He moved along the wall and slid his hand behind the painting of Machiavelli. Feeling a folded-up piece of paper stuck to the wall behind the portrait, Zorro brought it over to the light of the lamp and opened it. Yes, there they were, the new orders for the Imperial soldiers! They had been ordered back to Mexico City a week ago to help with the increasing unrest, but de Soto had hidden the orders so that the soldiers would stay under his command. Carefully, Zorro slipped the document back into its hiding place and moved toward the door.

A voice behind him made him turn. "I suspected as much. It was all a diversion to get me away from my office. But I am too clever for you, Zorro. I came back!" It was De Soto. Despite the dim light, Zorro could see that De Soto's gun was out and pointed at him. Faster than his shadow, Zorro swept up the lamp and threw it toward De Soto while dropping to the ground out of range of a stray shot. The lamp hit De Soto in the arm, deflecting his aim, and fell to the floor where it broke. A flicker of flame began to lick up the oil spilled on the floor. Instantly, Zorro was back on his feet and on the other side of the desk. Before De Soto could reload, he had unsheathed his sword and saluted. De Soto, too, unsheathed his sword but lunged without pausing for the traditional salute. Zorro parried and teased as his sword whipped back and forth, deflecting De Soto's attempts to impale him. "What a pretty light, alcalde. I'm afraid that it's causing a bit of damage to your office."

"It's damage to you that I intend to do," menaced De Soto, aiming another thrust at Zorro's heart. Senses on the alert, Zorro heard the slightest sound in the corner and realized that someone else had entered the room. He jumped to the side and just missed being hit by Sanchez, who had also drawn his sword. "Two against one, now the odds are more even," joked Zorro. "But seriously, this fire is getting out of hand and it is time to end our game." With a lightning-fast series of jabs, Zorro disarmed de Soto and spun him around by the arm so that he ended up facing Sanchez with Zorro's naked blade against his throat. "First things first. Put out that fire."

Sanchez kicked a rug onto the flame and smothered it. The room grew dark, lit only by the moonlight coming through the window. "Now," continued Zorro, "I have enjoyed our little time together but all good things must come to an end." Zorro edged toward the door and whistled. An answering nicker assured him that Toronado was outside. "And just so you don't forget me…" Zorro neatly sliced a "Z" into Sanchez's jacket. Then, with a terrific shove, he threw de Soto against the Imperial soldier, and while they were disentangling themselves, exited the office and jumped onto Toronado's back. By the time de Soto had reached the door, the sound of galloping hooves was fading off into the distance. There was no point in pursuit.

"So that is the famous fox?" exclaimed Sanchez. "Shut up!" replied De Soto. Two hours later, the lancers that had followed the alcalde in pursuit of the fake Zorro returned, tired and empty-handed, to the cuartel.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: As promised, here's the end of this arc. I'll probably take a couple days' break before posting what further happens to Mendoza now that the Imperial soldiers are out of the way and, in the process, how things develop between Zorro and Victoria.

Thanks again to my faithful reviewers. You really make it fun to post a story. Do you like how things have worked out so far?

To katie1999: What a great idea! I've been doing more of a 3rd person, omniscient POV throughout. When I entitled the story "Mendoza's Story," it was because I'm planning to give him the attention and happy ending that usually is reserved for the "main" characters (i.e., Victoria & Diego (and sometimes Felipe)). I actually hadn't thought of writing the story first-person, from Mendoza's POV, but I can see how that would give it a novel twist-hard to pull off, like you said, because of limited knowledge-but really interesting.

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><p>Mendoza sat alone in his cell wondering if he would ever be released. No one paid him much attention and there wasn't much to do during the long hours alone. Three times a day, someone would bring him his meals. Sometimes a lancer dropped off a sock to darn or a torn piece of clothing to mend. It helped fill the time and gave him a small sense of usefulness. He was somewhat surprised when Sanchez came by his cell.<p>

"What brings you here?" he asked, looking up from his seat on the bunk along the wall.

"My men say that you are good with a needle. I wondered if you could fix this jacket for me…it has a slight rip," replied Sanchez with a trace of embarrassment.

Mendoza got up and came over to the bars. He took the jacket from Sanchez and held it open, exposing the neat "Z" sliced into the material. Mendoza looked at it and breathed in sharply, "Zorro." Then, looking back at Sanchez, he asked, "How did this happen?"

"We had a visit from Zorro last night in the alcalde's office," replied Sanchez. "Does he often leave this kind of calling card or were we given special treatment?"

"No" responded Mendoza. "Zorro always does that. In fact, that is why I have gotten so good with a needle. I am always repairing the alcalde's clothing or my own!" Mendoza almost laughed at some of the memories of previous encounters between Zorro and the alcalde that came back readily to his mind. But then he remembered where he was and how he got there and his face lost its smile. "I'll fix it for you. It will be almost as good as new. Come back tomorrow and I will have it ready."

He was glad Zorro had made an appearance. Things always seemed to get better once Zorro got involved. He wondered what Zorro had been doing in the alcalde's office. But there was no one to ask. Sanchez had left and the hallway was empty again. A feeling of helplessness and uselessness washed over Mendoza. He returned to his bunk and picked up his needle and thread.

It was several hours after midnight when a dark shadow passed across the window bars. A glimmer of light began to play across Mendoza's sleeping form, moving back and forth across his eyes. Mendoza shifted uneasily in his sleep, then blinked. The light flashed once more across his now-open eyes, then disappeared. Mendoza was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he heard a low-pitched whisper from the window, "Sergeant Mendoza!"

"Who is it? What do you want?"

"Shhhhhhhhhh," came the reply. "Come to the window."

Mendoza rose and went up to the window. In the moonlight he could make out the shape of a man dressed all in black. "Zorro!" he blurted." "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," came the reply again.

"Have you come to get me out of jail?" asked Mendoza, not sure if this would be a good idea or not.

"No," replied Zorro softly. "If I released you now, you would only be hunted down as an outlaw. But I need your help, Mendoza, for a job that only you can do."

"But Zorro, I can't do anything. I'm locked up in this cell. How could I possibly help you?"

Zorro explained. "Yesterday, I searched the alcalde's office. I found the new orders that were to be given to the Imperial soldiers but the alcalde hid them so that the soldiers would not leave. The orders are on a paper that is hidden behind the alcalde's painting of Machiavelli. Someone has to tell the soldiers that they are there. If I try, they won't listen to me and even if I could tie them up so that they didn't shoot me first, they wouldn't believe me. But from one soldier to another, they will believe you if you tell them to look for them there."

Mendoza was about to refuse on the grounds that he had no way to get out to talk to Sanchez and the others when he remembered the jacket. "Si, senor Zorro, I will try."

Zorro took a step back from the window. Some gravel crunched beneath his feet and the sound echoed against the walls of the surrounding buildings. A guard called out, followed by the sound of boots running. Suddenly Mendoza heard a small explosion and saw a puff of smoke in front of the soldiers. Within seconds guns were dropped as each man was overcome by paroxysms of coughing. Mendoza, still standing near the bars of the open window, caught a whiff of the outside air. It burned his nose and made him cough, like the time he had spilled pepper on the table and accidently breathed some in. Fortunately, a slight breeze cleared the air within minutes. But the "damage" was done–Zorro had once again escaped.

Sanchez came by after breakfast to retrieve his jacket. "That Zorro sure is a bag of tricks. I was sure we'd catch him last night when the guard found him outside the cuartel. But he escaped without us being able to fire one shot! No wonder it has been so hard for the alcalde to catch him."

"Si, you are wasting your time trying to catch the fox. And the worst of it is that you will suffer for it."

"What do you mean?" asked Sanchez. "Is he a killer?"

"No," replied Mendoza. "I have never known Zorro to kill anyone on purpose. But you will suffer when your superiors come to realize that you disobeyed your orders."

"What are you talking about? The alcalde is our superior officer in this town and we obey his orders to the letter."

Mendoza looked directly at Sanchez. "The alcalde has tricked you just like he has tricked many other people. You have no idea, Sanchez, but I know this man. He has betrayed many people. He is betraying you right now. You know the penalty for a soldier that is absent without leave. You were given new orders but you have not obeyed them because the alcalde hid them so you wouldn't know about them and would stay here. The new orders are behind his painting on the wall. Look for yourself. You'll see." Mendoza handed Sanchez his jacket and continued to stare at him.

Sanchez put on the jacket without answering. What was this man saying? Was he just trying to start a problem between the new soldiers and the alcalde so that he could get his position back? Or did he know something? Could it be true? From what he had seen of the alcalde, he wouldn't put it past him to have done such a thing. But if he had, this was a very serious matter. Sanchez and his men could face a court-martial, especially if the local people complained about some of the things that they had been doing lately. They could say that they had only been following orders but if the alcalde chose to deny it… The situation was very serious indeed, but he needed to keep a cool head and first find out if the whole accusation was true. For that, he needed concrete proof. Mendoza had said that the orders were hidden behind a painting in the alcalde's office. He would just have to check it out.

Sanchez sent most of the soldiers on the day's patrols, then he took a couple of men and went to look for tracks from Zorro's last visit. He could see where the horse had started off—the tracks were deeper and farther apart in a gallop than those left by regular visitors to the pueblo. Unfortunately, no one had thought to warn the soldiers leaving on patrol duty to watch where they went and their tracks had obliterated Zorro's within a few yards of the gate. Sanchez and his men followed the trail for a mile to see if anything turned up farther down the trail but Sanchez was not surprised by the lack of results. Like a good soldier, Zorro knew to cover his tracks. Sanchez told his men to join up with the patrol working in the area before turning back toward the pueblo. He put his horse in the stable, then sat down at a desk with a view of the plaza, writing up a report of the previous night's action. He wrote slowly, waiting for the time to pass. When he saw the alcalde cross the plaza and enter the tavern for lunch, he got up and moved toward the office. Watching the tavern through the window he went over to the painting and slid his hand along the wall behind it. His fingers touched something solid that seemed stuck to the wall. He drew it out—it was a folded piece of paper. Quickly putting it in his pocket, he left the office. Then he walked over to the stable, got his horse, and rode out of the pueblo.

A mile away, Sanchez brought his horse to a stop under a grove of trees. He took out the piece of paper and unfolded it. He gasped and his face hardened. The signature and seal of General Montoyez, clearly displayed at the bottom, clearly proved the authenticity of this document. Here were indeed orders to the Imperial soldiers to report immediately to Mexico City to help defend the capital against the rebellion. The orders were over a week old! Was the alcalde crazy, ignoring these orders? Or had he thought he could get away with pretending they had never arrived? Was it possible that De Soto would even have dared to say that he had transmitted the orders but that the Imperial soldiers had defied him and stuck around to continue terrorizing the people? He didn't know and, for the moment, he didn't care. All that mattered was to get his men together and respond as quickly as possible to these orders. He refolded the paper and tucked it back into his jacket. He would go back to town and wait for his men. They would leave first thing in the morning, before dawn.

Mendoza woke up to shouting in the cuartel. It was still dark out and he wondered if Zorro had returned, but he heard no shots. Instead, he clearly made out the alcalde yelling at the soldiers and threatening them with desertion. He heard Sanchez' voice say something in reply but it was too low for him to make out the words. Then came the sound of a group of horses moving off. Finally, nothing. A rooster crowed in the distance.

A few minutes later, De Soto came into the hallway of the jail with two lancers. He ordered one to unlock the cell. Mendoza rose to his feet wondering what was going on. "As of today, you are back in charge of the men," said De Soto. "Organize the patrols to start immediately after breakfast." Without further word of explanation or apology, De Soto turned on his heel and left. When he was out of sight, the two lancers welcomed Mendoza back with an arm around his shoulders and a pound on the back. It was a good feeling.


End file.
